


There's No Chance for Us

by Alkarinque



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen, Legendarium Ladies April 2020, Second Age, Tumblr: legendariumladiesapril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23756770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkarinque/pseuds/Alkarinque
Summary: Elros dies. It passes unnoticed to the elves of Aman, except for Elwing.
Relationships: Elros Tar-Minyatur & Elwing
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40
Collections: Legendarium Ladies April 2020





	There's No Chance for Us

**Author's Note:**

> last time i managed to write something for LLA, it was also about Elwing. I guess it's my thing?? (I have more material on the way, I just need to finish it)
> 
> This is based on the prompt for April 18: forgiveness. 'For today’s prompt, create a fanwork that deals with a female character’s experiences around forgiveness. '
> 
> Guess it had to be angst ;)
> 
> (Title is from Queen's 'Who wants to live forever', which suited this fic scaringly well, at least the first five verses)

The messages between Tol Eressëa and Númenor were not as frequent in the early days of the kingdom as they would become in later centuries, yet Tar-Minyatur’s death reached Valinor more swiftly than any other; it was only two days late.

Few in the Blessed Realm thought much about it – all Men’s lives were to one day end, or so they had been told by the veterans of the War of Wrath or the Valar. Some mentioned how very late this one was, but few took notice of exactly how old he had become. Great though these Men on the gifted island were, they belonged to Arda beyond the Sea, and in Aman the happenings in mortal lands were not much thought of. Those who had once cared were either on the other side of the Sea or in the Halls.

Except Elwing. Elwing cared. Elwing took notice of every year the King of Númenor lived, and the births of his children – though if any news were hard to come by, those were – and every year they breathed. Elwing listened for every decision which made it to Tol Eressëa, even the dry ones regarding taxes or trade. Not all came through the mouths of Elves; some her friends among the birds told her, though they could only tell what they had seen and not explain what it was. She also searched for news from across the Sea, from Gil-Galad’s realm, about her other son, but they were even harder to come by, though they would become easier when Númenor’s mariners began exploring the world and spreading their lore, language and settlements, but that still lay far in the future.

Then, when Tar-Minyatur died, Elwing heard next to nothing of Elrond Peredhel, Gil-Galad’s herald. And from then on, she would hear nothing of Elros either.

The sea by her tower was colder than in Sirion, yet Elwing found herself walking its shore more often than she had by her former home. Now she did it again. The sound of the waves washed over her.

 _Wash it away,_ she thought and did not mind how the hem of her white dress became wet and dragged in the sand, _wash away this grief, I beg you._

Yet Ulmo, who had always been the protector of her husband, did not answer her plea. She still felt the aching hole in her breast, made from love and fear but most of all of chances lost forever.

 _I will never see his face again,_ she thought and felt her eyes burn. _The babes I remember holding; one of them I will never see again. The child who collected seashells from the beach to give me; I will never kiss his brow again. The man I never got to know; I will never have the chance to ask him who he was, who he became, or hear him tell me of his home and children and wife and kingdom and see if he is like his father and if he has my face or Eärendil’s or perhaps my father’s-_

The waves swallowed all other sounds and left her alone with her thoughts, only hers to remember. They may have come from the island in the East, where at that moment a tomb was being put in order for its eternal inhabitant, with his daughter watching with dry but kind eyes under a white veil. Elwing did not know that daughter, who was called Tindómiel for her beauty but foremost for her strength, and would never know her. But was it not strange then, that Tindómiel, at the same time Elwing looked south-east to Númenor, where the sunset had coloured the sky golden, and stepped into the sea until it reached her knees, thought of her grandmother: _I wonder if she knows; I wonder if she grieves. I wonder how her voice would sound like if I could speak to her._

(It was a passing moment. Soon after the tomb was in place and Tindómiel had gazed at the sculpted face of her dead father for a few moments, remembered his voice and smile and presence, she walked out to her horse, which would take her back to Armenelos, where her brothers and their children waited by the former King’s bed, where he lay prepared for his final journey to Noirinan, the Valley of the Tombs. And Elwing turned her eyes skywards where a few birds shrieked far away in the distance, and she had a fleeting thought of her husband, sleeping in the tower, soon to awake and set sail again.)

The water was cold around Elwing and her feet froze. Her white dress became heavy and clung to her legs, but she stayed. Her voice would seem like a prayer had anyone heard.

“Forgive me”, she whispered and maybe the wind who blew it away knew for who they were meant for. “I have not known you in a long time. I wish I could have met you and seen your kingdom, one day.”

She took a shaky breath. “But I never did. I left you behind and we never found our ways back to each other again. Forgive me. But we chose differently, you and me. We both chose for ourselves and others, I for your father and you for your children.”

“I was always proud of you. I always was.”

“You are not my first loss, Elros; I have had too many. But you are the gravest one. The hardest one. The son I will always remember but never see again. Forgive me – I hope you did.”

The sun was slowly disappearing below the horizon and the water grew colder.

“Farewell.”

**Author's Note:**

> yeah. give kudos or comment if you liked it!! or if you cried, both works


End file.
